


my saints fallen

by neroh



Series: my saints fallen [1]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Eventual Smut, Injury Recovery, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-19 20:33:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3623337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neroh/pseuds/neroh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you know who I am?” he asks after a long while.</p><p>Eggsy’s voice comes out worn and tired, not surprising given the way Harry found him; a fading echo, a whisper carried on the wind. </p><p>“You’re a ghost,” he says.</p><p>Harry’s been called worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Bre for betaing this and Dommi for enabling me - you two are gems and I adore you both!
> 
> The title comes from Mordred's line in _Camelot_ , "I like my women married, my willpower weak, my wine strong, and my saints fallen."

He’s standing in a middle of a field and his back’s on fire.

Those are the only things he’s aware of; not the constant thump of his feet hitting dirt and grass nor the ache in his lungs.

Just fire, burning and spreading.

Eggsy has no idea where he is; it’s dusk and his target’s men are trailing behind him, both on foot and by sports utility vehicles. He doesn’t smell the heaviness of gasoline or hear their shouts.

Only the fire that sets his body alight and makes his eyes water.

His mind wanders to Jason Bourne, a fictional character whose mission went awry. Eggsy has no doubts that he never felt the veil of panic as he dove into the ocean, never realizing that as soon as he hit the water his memory would be lost.

_There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self._

Jason Bourne certainly never heard a former boss voice quoting Ernest Hemingway.

He falls to the ground on hands and knees, groaning as pain spikes through his body. Eggsy swallows, scrambling to his feet where he sees the tree line looming in the anticipated darkness. If he disappear through there, he has a shot of making it out of this alive.

And when he gets back to headquarters, he’s going to have a serious chat with Merlin.

Perhaps a cuddle with JB.

His mind falters, all common sense warping into nonsensical trains of thought. Eggsy’s standing in the middle of a field and his back’s on fire, growing and spreading and burning.

And Harry Hart stands in front of him.

Then there’s darkness.

 

* * *

 

The thing about being unconscious is that Eggsy doesn’t realize is that he’s been shot three times or that each bullet hole forming jagged circles in his back. 

The flesh is burnt and bloodied, staining his skin and clothes. Thankfully, there are no exit wounds nor vital organs struck, which is nothing short of a miracle. One of the bullets had been dangerously close to entering his lung, centimeters really.

It’s no matter; Eggsy is unconscious and on his stomach while Harry works diligently to extract the pieces of metal from his body.

He moves the light, trying to find a better angle, and chews on the inside of his cheek. All around him is deafening silence, save for the cling of bullet shards being set down on the dish next to the bed.

Harry pauses to examine a few of them, twisting and turning the tweezers he’s holding. He’s been shot before, many times during his service in the Kingsman. The latest scar, thanks to Valentine, is hidden by his hair and located by his ear.

His eyes drift from bloodied metal to Eggsy’s face. He hasn’t seen the boy - young man, really - in about six months or so, but Harry is pleased to find that the Kingsman service has been good to him.

With the glaringly obvious exception of their current circumstances.

Harry reaches to cup Eggsy’s cheek, caressing the skin with gentle fingers. “It seems that I was right about you,” he whispers. “You have transformed.”

There is no reply from the younger man, only the steady rise and fall of his back, and with that, Harry gets back to work.

 

* * *

 

Eggsy is unaware of Harry’s vigil; how he brings him water and coaxes him to sip through a straw, how he checks under the bandages to see how his wounds are healing, and how Harry watches him with concerned eyes.

Or how he waits for Eggsy to stir.

He doesn’t know that Harry cleaned him up and put him to bed, carefully tucking the flannel sheets and heavy comforter over him. Eggsy is somewhere else when an encrypted message is sent to Merlin, letting him know that their Kingsman has survived.

No, all of the outside world is blocked out by darkness; blissful and silent darkness. Here he has no worries, no responsibilities, or errands to run. Eggsy can stay here and loaf about.

If he’s honest with himself, he likes it…probably more than he should.

 

* * *

 

Harry checks the stitches woven into Eggsy’s arm—where his tracker used to be—when he hears the hitch in the younger man’s breathing.

It’s nothing like a death rattle, something he’s heard before, but a deep inhale followed by a sigh. A subtle sign that Eggsy is coming back to him.

 _No_ , Harry amends. Not to him, never to him. Eggsy has never been his; it’s not like the thought has crossed his mind…

Aside from his improper use of grammar and that awful mischievous streak, the lad is good looking. Boyish, though rough around the edges. A tailored suit and tie may hide the unsavory parts, but Harry has seen Eggsy at rock bottom.

He’s also seen him at his best.

There would be too much at stake at one time perhaps, certainly not now.

He watches Eggsy taking another deep drag of oxygen and another. The younger man’s nose wrinkles and his tongue wets his dry lips.

Harry knows that his protégé will wake soon and he’ll have many questions to answer for.

 

* * *

 

On the third day, Eggsy’s lashes flutter against the tops of his cheekbones right before his eyes open slowly. 

Like a flower blooming as the first day of spring sun touches its petals. Harry is sitting by his side with a hand on his shoulder, watching as the young man rejoins the land of the living. There’s evident confusion and pain in his green eyes, as if Eggsy still has one limb trapped in oblivion.

Not that Harry would blame him; after all, he’s been in the same position. He remembers his own recovery, its length and the feeling of being weak.

Oblivion is a tantalizing mistress and her arms offer one caught in her web a sense of peace and never-ending comfort.

“Eggsy,” he intones, moving his hand from the knight's shoulder to the back of his skull. He wants to draw the lad out, albeit slowly.

Eggsy closes his eyes, grunting into the pillow under his cheek. They roll shut, their green irises disappearing under pale flesh until they’re only a sliver, then nothing. He goes to change position, like he’s sleeping off a mission in his own bed, and whimpers.

“Shh,” Harry hushes, carding his fingers through the younger man’s disheveled hair. “Shh, it’s quite all right.”

His assures are met with moans of pain and the clenching of fists against the bed’s sheets. Eggsy does listen, however, and stills his movements.

“I’m going to give you something for the pain,” Harry announces as he reaches for a syringe filled with morphine. He detests the drug, but it was the only thing he could get his hands on. “You’ll feel some stinging in your arm, right here,” he explains, following it up with action.

The needle sinks into the skin of Eggsy’s bicep and he squeaks, arm jerking lamely. Harry utters words of comfort as he pushes the liquid through and removes the syringe.

“You’re safe,” Harry tells him. “You’re somewhere safe, where you can rest.”

Eggsy lets loose a series of whispered curses and moans before the morphine dulls the pain. His body goes limp and there is a brief moment that Harry thinks the young man may have drifted off again.

Under half-closed lids, Eggsy is staring at him with clouded eyes. Harry brings his face closer, watching as the pupils constrict and release. It is unusual for the young man to be so quiet and right at that moment, Harry wishes he would run his mouth.

“Do you know who I am?” he asks after a long while.

Eggsy’s voice comes out worn and tired, not surprising given the way Harry found him; a fading echo, a whisper carried on the wind.

“You’re a ghost,” he says.

Harry’s been called worse.

 

* * *

 

“Am I dead?” Eggsy asks on the fifth day.

Harry has just finished helping him lean against a half dozen pillows and pauses. “No,” he answers. “You are very much alive.”

“But you’re dead, ain’t you?”

He shakes his head. “I am thought to be dead,” Harry says. “There is a difference between the two.”

“I saw you get shot,” Eggsy tells him. There is so much anger, a measure of betrayal, and, dare Harry to think it, _relief_ when the young man looks at him. “I saw Valentine…I saw it with my own eyes.”

Harry’s shoulders slump. “I know you did.”

Because he _knows_ ; he knows that Eggsy watched him get gunned down after the massacre in front of the church and saw Harry’s blood spill onto the pavement.

“You don’t know nothin’,” the lad hisses. Tears pool against his waterline, hot and salty and ready to fall. “Nothin’.”

Those are the last words Eggsy says to him that day; it’s expected. Harry leaves him in bed shortly after, giving the young Kingsman space.

Harry’s not stupid; there’s no apology good enough. Perhaps in time Eggsy can learn to trust him, but it won’t happen soon. So long as he allows Harry to treat his injuries and doesn’t do anything rash, the older man is willing to wait for Eggsy’s forgiveness.

So Harry wanders through the Russian manor house. It’s a simple, mid-sized affair that he found by sheer luck. The house has been well maintained, though no one has resided in its walls for years. He purchased it under an assumed name (no one questions much when the right amount of money is involved) and began to make it his home.

In the warmer months, he tries to maintain the grounds. It’s difficult when there is only one person, but Harry enjoys the work.

It allows his mind to drift, to relax. All in all, death has been kind to Harry Hart.

Late in the afternoon he comes to check on the young Kingsman and finds him slumped against the pillows, fast asleep. His arm is draped protectively over his middle and his lips parted as Eggsy snores quietly.

Harry goes to the windows and draws the curtains to a close one by one. He has the urge to look at his guest but forces himself not to.

 

* * *

 

Eggsy hates his convalescence.

He’s been punched, kicked, stabbed, and dropped out of planes; none of these compare to being shot. Three times no less.

“How did you find me?” he asks Harry while he’s lying on his stomach. His shirt has been cast off and is neatly folded somewhere on the bed.

Harry is inspecting his stitches. “Hrm?”

“How did you find me?” Eggsy repeats slowly and deliberately. He moves his head, trying to catch his mentor’s eye but the angle is all wrong.

“I have my ways,” Harry says cryptically.

There is an angry retort on his tongue and ready to lash out against his savior. Instead he harrumphs and lies still during the rest of the examination. It’s just as well since everything hurts and that is no exaggeration.

Once Harry is done doing whatever he is up to, he helps Eggsy with his shirt. The task involves a lot of swearing on the latter’s part and annoyed glances from the former.

“You try bein’ shot in the back and tryin’ to put on a proper shirt,” he snaps at Harry.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you was thinkin’ it.”

Harry shrugs, almost like a defeat. “I will see if I have a button up,” he says as he retreats from the room.

“I don’t care about the bloody button up!” Eggsy shouts. “I _want_ answers!”

The strain of yelling pulls at the wounds on his back; actually it affects everything. He feels winded and weak as he sits against the pillows, panting. All the while Harry stands in the doorway, watching him.

He hasn’t changed much from the last time Eggsy saw him, all posh-like and looking the part of a gentleman. He wears a pair of neatly tailored slacks and a collared shirt under a jumper. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing fair skin dusted with fine dark hair.

The glasses are gone; Eggsy suspects he doesn’t have much need for them now.

“I will give you answers,” Harry tells him. “When you are further in your recovery, but for now you shall rest.”

He leaves without room for argument and without another word. Figures.

Eggsy gnashes his teeth together and huffs; he doesn’t want to be left alone. He wants an explanation.

Something, anything to explain why Harry allowed him to think he was dead. Why he left. Why he decided to show up in the middle of a field.

So many whys rush through his thoughts and Eggsy hasn’t the slightest clue of what to do with any of them.

 

* * *

 

He’s been cooped up in the bedroom for ten days, four of which Eggsy doesn’t recall. It doesn’t matter because he’s growing restless with the pace his body is healing and he wants something to do.

“You could read,” Harry offers as he clears away the midday snack he prepared.

Eggsy raises a brow. “Read?”

“Reading is a relaxing pastime,” the older man tells him. “It puts you in another’s shoes and takes one on adventures.”

“I’d say I’ve had enough adventure for one month,” Eggsy replies, gesturing at his ailing body.

As promised, Harry found him a button down sleep shirt. When he had first put it on, Eggsy caught a whiff of the older man’s scent; his cologne, deodorant, and something that he could only describe as Harry.

“I’d have to agree with your assessment,” Harry says. He leaves the room with a smirk and returns with a book while Eggsy is napping.

That’s the other thing he hates about healing: the lack of energy and how any activity - eating, bathing, going to the loo - ends with him sleeping for several hours.

Eggsy awakes to find a book on his bedside table. After flipping through the pages and reading the rather vague description, he decides that he has nothing better to do with his time. If anything, it will take his mind off of Harry’s sudden reappearance and the strong feelings Eggsy has on the subject.

He’s still reading when his former mentor enters the bedroom, not that he would notice as he's currently eye-deep in the pages.

“You seem to be enjoying my choice,” Harry comments.

Eggsy shrugs as much as he can. “I don’t understand why ol’ Eddy doesn’t just kill Fernand. It’d be much quicker than this plan of his…and I reckon he’d get laid a lot faster.”

“Is that so?” Harry chuckles. He sits on the edge of the mattress and grins. “Have you heard of the saying good things come to those who wait?”

The younger man rolls his eyes. “I have, but in this bloke’s case, he’s waited long enough.”

“Patience, Eggsy,” Harry teases. “Perhaps you should consider it.”

“Perhaps you should consider a foot up your arse,” Eggsy mutters under his breath.

Harry leaves him again, but he can make out the twitch of the older man’s lips as he tries to hide his amusement. Something about the way the former Kingsman teased him leaves an itch on his skin like it’s too tight.

Eggsy sets the book down and stares at Harry’s vacated spot. He may no longer be in the room, but his presence is everywhere and nowhere.

It leaves him feeling unsettled for the rest of the night.


	2. Chapter 2

He doesn’t know what to expect the next morning, seeing how the evening took a strange turn in Eggsy’s opinion.

Perhaps Harry will avoid him; it seems like something he’d do—keeping their interactions short and awkward.

Not that they’re not already awkward, to begin with.

What Eggsy doesn’t expect is Harry to toss open the curtains while he’s still half-asleep and noisily make his way around the room. “I’m tryin’ to sleep ‘ere!” he grumbles.

“A young man such as yourself should get fresh air,” Harry tells him. He’s rummaging in the wardrobe by the sounds of it. “Some exercise wouldn’t go amiss. It will help with your recuperation and in regaining your strength.”

Eggsy curses incoherently as he covers his face with his hands. “Are you a doctor now?” he snaps.

“A doctor?” Harry questions; he’s standing over him now. “Goodness no, but I do understand what it’s like to have a lengthy recovery.” He sets a pile of neatly folded clothing down on the comforter; trousers, a button-down shirt, a jumper, underwear, and socks.

Eggsy makes a sound caught between a whimper and a whine. “You’s serious!”

“Of course,” the older man states. “When have you ever known me to be anything but?” Harry leaves the room without asking if Eggsy will need help, not that he’d accept it.

At least his former mentor is a quick study.

By the time he’s struggling with getting the jumper over his head, Harry makes a reappearance. If Eggsy hadn’t been muttering curses as he uses stiff limbs for the first time in days, he probably would have heard him.

“You seemed to have managed without me,” Harry comments as he steps into the bedroom.

Eggsy scowls. “Why do you sound so surprised?” he snaps. His cheeks flush, burning like a flame. “Didn’t think that lil’ Eggsy Unwin could survive without the great Harry Hart?”

He’s trying to goad Harry into reacting, to be as angry as he feels.

Eggsy should know the former Kingsman better than that; he only offers a smirk and “I should never dare to think such a thing” in _that_ posh voice.

“Why are you makin’ me do this?” the younger man asks, defeated.

Harry frowns and goes to approach the bed as if Eggsy is a wild animal. He reaches for the balled up socks and unrolls them as he kneels in front of the younger man.

“I thought that a stroll on the grounds would put you in better spirits,” he explains, stretching out a sock before slipping it over Eggsy’s foot. The second one goes on without much fuss. “If you are truly unwell and do not wish to go out, then I can show you the library on the first floor. It’s nothing in comparison to the one at the Kingsman headquarters, but I believe you will find it impressive nonetheless.”

Eggsy just stares at him, his jaw set tightly and his scowl deepening. He’s not sure what to make of this but decides to go along with it anyways.

Who knows? It may bring him one step closer to finding out how Harry survived and why he disappeared.

“Outside’s fine,” he mumbles.

Harry stands up, patting his shoulder and turns to go back towards the wardrobe. When he faces Eggsy, he’s holding a pair of fresh trainers.

“I took the liberty of getting you a few things,” Harry comments as a flush rises on his cheeks. “As I recall, you weren’t a fan of loafers.”

“Things change,” Eggsy lies. He begrudgingly allows the older man help him with the trainers and tries to ignore Harry’s amused grin that makes his eyes crinkle.

 

* * *

 

It’s slow going, but eventually, Harry finds himself on the back lawn with his house guest. Eggsy, as he predicted, is in an irritable mood and seems quite troubled with his healing body.

“These things take time,” he tells the younger man as they stroll the grounds. Harry breathes in the fresh air and basks in the sunshine.

“Are you the Dalai Lama now?” Eggsy grouses. “Get shot in the head and found yourself a higher state of bein’?”

Harry suppresses an eye roll and goes back to enjoying the warm weather rather than engaging in a verbal sparring match with the younger man.

It’s what Eggsy wants, even Harry’s not that stupid.

The walk of the grounds closest to the house is filled with silence and pauses in their stroll so Eggsy can sit to catch his breath. Harry waits patiently, glancing at his young companion every so often.

Gone is death’s pallor, replaced by rosy cheeks and life in Eggsy’s green eyes. Despite the aforementioned man’s attitude towards him, Harry is relieved to see that the young Kingsman survived his ordeal.

“So it’s just you,” Eggsy says. “With all this land. What do you do all day? Loaf about?”

Harry shrugs. “Depends on my mood, I suppose,” he replies. “I like to tend as much of the grounds as possible or read. Sometimes outside if the weather permits.”

“Seems borin’.”

“That is objective,” Harry tells him. “I find the solitude…soothing.”

Eggsy pulls a face. “Soothing?” he parrots, followed by a spark of remembrance: Harry in the church, mindlessly killing its patrons without the wherewithal to stop. His eyes are downcast and he’s pulling at his nail bed. “Oh.”

“It may not be the most exotic location,” Harry agrees with a nod of his head. “But at least I don’t have to deal with noisy neighbors or London’s traffic.”

This earns a chuckle, even if it’s a brief one. Eggsy is hiding his grin when Harry looks over at him and attempting to look put off. “Why did you settle in the middle of the Arctic tundra?”

“Actually this is the taiga,” the older man corrects.

“Does it look like I give a damn?” Eggsy snaps.

Harry studies him for a moment and watches how visibly torn the younger man is as if Eggsy can’t decide if he wants to hug and punch him. “There may be a time in your life that you find yourself at a crossroad and are uncertain of how to approach it,” Harry starts to surmise. “And then a decision is made for you. Rather than fight it, I allowed myself to be guided towards something else.”

“You left,” Eggsy states, sounding hurt. “I thought you were dead. Merlin, Roxy… the other blokes in Kingsman.”

“Sometimes a choice still involves repercussions, Eggsy.”

“You could have let me know that you were alive,” the younger man shouts. “A token, a note with some spy bullshit scribbled on it, your stuffed dog…somethin' to let me know that you weren’t dead!”

Harry shakes his head. “It wasn’t possible for me to do that.”

“Wasn’t possible or you didn’t feel like it?”

“Eggsy,” he sighs, shoving his hands into his front pockets. “The world was in chaos and you had plenty on your plate. It would have complicated things…and you needed to focus on your duties.”

The young man laughs, the sound harsh to Harry’s ears. “Focus on my duties?” he echoes, shaking his head in disbelief. Eggsy gets to his feet and comes at him, poking the older man’s chest with his finger. “I _watched_ you die, Harry! I saw _everything!_.”

“You weren’t meant to…”

Eggsy pushes him backward. “I wasn’t meant to see?” he growls, tilting his head. “Well too bloody bad because I did. I saw it! I watched Valentine blow your brains out and simultaneously almost lose his lunch.” He shoves Harry again. “And guess what, I _also_ watched them lower your casket into the ground. I even threw some dirt and said a prayer for you!”

Harry grabs Eggsy just as he’s about to shove him again, locking both of the young man’s wrists against his chest as he spins the boy around. He holds him tightly, allowing for very little wiggle room if Eggsy gets another inclination to attack him.

“Others needed you,” Harry declares into the shell of the younger man’s ear.

Eggsy squirms against him, clearly not concerned if he tears his stitches. “But what ‘bout me, eh?” he yells as he tries to kick his former mentor. “ _I_ needed _someone_! It was supposed to be _you_!”

Harry drops his hold on the younger man and watches him as he stumbles like a foal. Eggsy’s statement hits him directly in the chest, leaving him stunned.

Eggsy regains his balance and whirls around, his cheeks red and shining with tears. “I needed someone, but you were gone!” he shrieks. His fists are balled up so tightly that his knuckles are turning snow. “I had nightmares every single time I closed my eyes and no one to talk to because everyone was too busy fixin’ the world!”

“There is no apology for the predicament I left you in,” Harry states.

Eggsy presses the heel of his palms into his eyes and sniffles. “You could have told me,” he croaks. “I wouldn’t have said a word to no one.”

Harry feels his heart ache and nods. “I know,” is all he can say, even if it comes out as a whisper.

 

* * *

 

He predicts that Eggsy will avoid him once they enter the manor house. It’s a fitting punishment for the crime, but Harry finds himself surprised.

The young man slinks away from his touch, though he stays near like a shadow. Eggsy’s complexion is still ruddy with bloodshot eyes to match. His green irises look hauntingly bright and it instantly fills Harry with regret.

“Perhaps you would like to help me prepare supper,” he says, breaking the silence as they enter the quaint foyer.

Eggsy nods. “Lead the way,” he tells Harry.

His kitchen is nothing like the one back in his old London abode, but it serves the purpose just the same. The appliances are not as sleek, though nothing inside of the house would be considered as such.

Harry turns on the lights and places his hands on his hips. “This is it,” he announces, looking at Eggsy who is surveying his surroundings. “I must confess that I cook more now than I did before.”

“You’ve got the time and all,” Eggsy agrees, his voice flat.

He nods. “I do.” Harry takes a step towards the refrigerator. “Is there anything you’d like in particular? I know that your diet has been rather bland over the last week…”

“Do you have pizza?”

Harry opens the refrigerator and peers inside to see some items that could be used as toppings. He’s certain he has a frozen pizza crust in the icebox. “We’ll have to make it ourselves,” he calls from over his shoulder. “Is that alright?”

Eggsy shrugs. “It’s fine,” he says as he goes to the sink to wash his hands. There is a limp in his walk, but the young Kingsman is keen on ignoring it.

And Harry isn’t about to say anything. He grabs the ingredients: the frozen crust, cheese, sauce, a roll of pepperoni from the market in town, and an assortment of vegetables.

It’s not his ideal toppings for a pizza—Harry’s more of a prosciutto and arugula type of man—but he suspects that while Eggsy has become a bit more refined in some areas, others are still catching up.

After setting the items down on the counter, he washes his hands while Eggsy surveys what has been laid out. He is staring at the pepperoni when Harry turns around.

“I could cut you a few slices,” he offers as he wipes his hands on a towel. When the younger man nods, Harry feels a bit more hopeful that the evening won’t end with a knife in his back.

Once a small dish of pepperoni has been prepared for Eggsy, they go about making the pizza. The oven is heating up and items are being sliced into pieces when the younger man speaks.

“How did you survive?” he asks while dicing up some bell peppers.

Harry stops grating cheese and meets Eggsy’s stare. He wets his lips before clearing his throat. “The bullet grazed my skull, for all it bled like a stuck pig. My surgeon told me I was very lucky as there was only minimal damage, all things considering.”

They lapse into silence for several minutes while Harry slices more pepperoni for the pizza rather than for the younger man’s stomach.

“My left hand has a tic,” he points out. “From what happened. It’s not detrimental to my existence, but you can assume that it would make being a Kingsman more difficult.”

Eggsy looks up from the vegetable, his eyes traveling from Harry’s face to his mentioned appendage. “But your right hand is the dominant one,” the younger man says.

“Very true, but in a fight, it is good to have full functionality of both,” Harry replies. “I’m sure you already know that.”

The younger man’s lip curls into a smirk. “I may have.”

“After my convalescence, I traveled for a few months in an effort to figure out what I wanted to do,” the older man continues. “I was in St. Petersburg when I saw a listing for this manor house and decided to come take a look without expecting to buy the place.”

Eggsy looks around the kitchen. “It suits you,” he observes. “It’s old…like one of them Queen Anne houses. Flemish panels, deeply shadowed entrances, oriel windows…what?”

“Well, that was surprising,” Harry intones with a smile.

The younger man shrugs. “I reckon you forgot that I was smart,” he quips, smirking.

“No, never,” Harry says. “Not once.”

Eggsy’s smirk softens and he sets down the knife on the countertop. He takes a step towards Harry, wetting his lips with his tongue as he studies the older man.

Harry gazes upon him in return, noticing a freckle here and there on his face or the swirl of gray-green in his right iris.

Like the sea before a storm.

He barely has time to realize that Eggsy has surged forward and his mouth is against Harry’s own, slick and heated and gentle.

Harry drops his own knife to grab the younger by the waist. He pulls Eggsy towards him, melding their chests against each other as Harry traps Eggsy’s lower lip between his own, tonguing the plush flesh. The younger man tastes of pepperoni, heady and spicy on the older man’s tongue.

Harry gives his examination of Eggsy’s mouth, seeking more. He groans at the first press of the Kingsman’s tongue against his own and feels the younger man’s fingers carding through his hair.

He expected Eggsy to be brash and untutored but finds that while his protégé is a bit rough around the edges, he is exceedingly good at _this_.

They stay locked in a kiss until both of them part to breathe. Eggsy’s exhale drifts over Harry’s cheek, curling seductively as he looks at the younger man like it’s the first time.

“Also surprising,” Harry states, his voice soft like a breeze.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to Bre for her betaing and for everyone who has read. Where did you all come from? I'm so confused!

Preparing their meal is punctuated with careless smirks and a make-out session once the pizza is in the oven.

Or so Eggsy tries.

He has the front of Harry’s shirt bunched in his fists and his lips pressed up against the older man’s, swollen and wanting. God bless the former Kingsman as he tries to set the timer for their meal while Eggsy sucks a bruise into his neck.

“I need to do this,” Harry reasons, clearly sounding torn between the younger man’s mouth and not wanting to burn the house down.

Eggsy sucks harder and then tongues the abused skin. “Aren’t you supposed to be an expert at multi-taskin’, old man?”

“I resent that,” his mentor snaps half-heartedly. He grips Eggsy’s hips and pulls him closer, forgetting about the timer. “It just so happens that once I find something of interest, I become quite single-minded in my dedication.”

He finds himself swallowing hard. “Is that a fact?” Eggsy questions.

“A _promise_ ,” Harry replies, cheekily.

Eggsy feels his trousers tightening and he leans into Harry’s body. “When are you going to fulfill this promise, eh?” He gives the older man a grin and arches a brow for the full effect.

“After supper,” Harry states, pecking Eggsy on the cheek before going back to set the timer as if nothing happened.

His jaw falls slack as he watches the former Kingsman go about his business. “Bloody cheek,” Eggsy mutters, folding his arms over his chest with a pout.

He’s not discouraged for long; Harry comes back over to him, lips seeking his and strong arms pulling Eggsy closer.

“Quite,” the older man says as he stares the Kingsman down, quirking his mouth. “I believe that you enjoy my cheek from time to time.”

Eggsy opens his mouth, as he’s wont to do, and finds his words swallowed by Harry’s mouth on his. There are wet lips and slick tongue and the taste of his former mentor.

And his hands on Eggsy’s body, a possessive and gentle touch that keeps him anchored.

Harry’s mouth seeks other places—his jaw, a spot behind his ear, his neck—and he groans into the older man’s hair.

“I’m surprised you haven’t ripped my clothes off,” Eggsy tells him, his voice hitching as Harry’s tongue teases the sensitive skin of his earlobe.

“A gentleman _does not_ rip clothing off his sexual partner,” Harry explains. “Perhaps he uses his mouth in place of his fingers…”

Eggsy squeaks. “Shouldn’t be talkin’ like that if you don’t plan on actin’,” he rasps.

“Oh, believe me,” Harry whispers. “I plan on it.”

They resume learning what makes each other tick until the timer goes off. Eggsy reluctantly lets Harry tend to their meal and watches him as he removes the pizza from the oven. He sets it down on a cooling rack and removes the oven mitts covering his hands.

“It will take a few minutes to cool,” Harry says as he sets the mitts on the countertop.

Eggsy smirks. “I don’t think either of us wants dinner,” he quips.

“Thank goodness for that,” Harry declares like a sigh of relief as he grabs Eggsy, pulling him into his arms with a kiss. “I plan to make you ravenous by the time I’m done.”

The sensual promise makes Eggsy weak in the knees and he’s surprised he’s able to keep up with the older man as they wind their way through the house.

At first, he thinks they are going to his room until they venture in the opposite direction. Eggsy hasn’t seen much of the house, though he easily deduces that they are heading to Harry’s bedroom.

There is a vague memory of the older man giving him a tour of his home in London and a quick glance of his room, the bed made and everything in its place.

He is brought out of it by the press of Harry’s lips against the back of his neck, nipping and licking the exposed skin he finds. Eggsy groans at the sensation, closing his eyes as the older man guides him through the dark.

They stop and he opens his lids just as Harry flicks on a light, illuminating his bedroom. It’s similar to the room that Eggsy has been recovering in, though it shows signs of a long-term inhabitance.

“Is this all right?” Harry inquires softly. He is watching Eggsy take in his new surroundings, patient and steadfast. “We can always stop.”

Eggsy shakes his head. “No,” he replies, taking a step inside the bedroom. Everything about the decor screams Harry Hart with all its understated elegance. “I reckon you could have gone into the interior decoratin’ business.”

“I hadn’t thought of it,” Harry tells him.

The younger man huffs a chuckle as he approaches the bed. He reaches out to touch the crisp white duvet cover and a light gray blanket that sits on top of it. “You could call it Manners Maketh Man,” he suggests as Harry comes up behind him.

“Clever,” the older man intones, touching Eggsy’s waist.

Eggsy realizes he could say something smart only to find himself turning around in Harry’s embrace to face him. The former Kingsman has a predatory glint in his eyes as he reaches for the young man’s lower lip, thumbing it carefully.

And then Harry kisses him.

They discard their clothing as Eggsy is guided around the bed and pressed into the edge of the mattress. Harry’s firm grip keeps him from toppling over, only letting go to guide the younger man’s undershirt over his torso.

Raising his arms over his head takes from the effort, but Eggsy admits that a little pain is worth the awestruck look on Harry’s face. In fact, it makes him feel a bit nervy being so exposed in front of the older man. He starts at the press of Harry’s fingers on his collarbone, tracing its clean line.

“Beautiful,” the man whispers before mouthing the span of skin. His tongue teases a sensitive spot on Eggsy’s neck. “You’ve always been beautiful to me.”

They’re kissing again, more heated than before, and the rest of their clothing is suddenly gone. There is no barrier between them, just warm skin and strong limbs tangled up in each other.

Eggsy buries his fingers in Harry’s dark strands as he’s laid against the pillows. He feels the drag of the older man’s erection on his inner thigh, the hard, wet skin brushing impatiently as they make-out hungrily.

Then Harry’s lips are gone and he’s reaching for the bedside table, pulling out a drawer and rifling around for something.

Eggsy turns his head to see a small bottle of lube and a condom clutched in Harry’s hand. “Planned this, didn’t you?”

“A gentleman is always prepared,” Harry tells him as he nips at the younger man’s lips. He pulls back, straddling Eggsy while he uncaps the bottle and lubes a generous amount onto his fingers.

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t see any gentlemen here,” Eggsy quips with a smile.

“Hmm,” the older man hums, nudging the Kingsman’s legs apart. “Not at the moment, no.”

There is no teasing in his actions as his fingers make their way towards Eggsy’s hole. The younger man goes to expose himself more, pulling his legs towards his chest, and closes his eyes as one of Harry’s fingers touches him.

With tutored finesse, Harry opens Eggsy up with slick fingers and hushed assurances as the younger man moans under him.

He doesn’t mind when Eggsy’s nails sink into his forearm or the curses that spill from his mouth. Harry just keeps going—stretching, scissoring, exploring—until the Kingsman is loose and desperate.

Eggsy feels the fingers withdraw from his body, biting his lip to curb a moan. He opens his eyes to see his lover rolling the condom over his length in the low light of the bedroom. “Harry,” he begs.

“I know,” the older man assures, lining himself up with Eggsy’s opening. He kisses him, a gentle press of lips and tongue, as he pushes in with one perfect thrust.

They go slow at first until Harry is certain that Eggsy isn’t made of porcelain and starts to fuck into the younger man with gusto. The Kingsman meets each movement and moans in pleasure, digging his fingers into the skin of Harry’s back.

If he leaves scratches, they can be covered by one of the older man’s pressed shirts and only Eggsy will know that they are there.

The thought makes his groin coil with warmth, growing in intensity as they move against each other.

“Touch yourself,” Harry orders, his voice coming out harshly.

Eggsy obeys and takes himself in hand, matching his strokes with the pace of the older man’s hips. “Fuck me,” he gasps as his orgasm hits minutes later. He arches his body into the curve of Harry’s torso as his release coats his fist.

Harry follows just as Eggsy goes limp on the mattress, whispering the younger man’s name like a litany.

 

* * *

 

The lad, in all his brute demeanor and appearance, is quite passive if Harry has to be honest with himself. 

Eggsy has a gentleness beneath hard muscles and lean plains that yearn to be dominated, which the older has done thoroughly and proudly. Harry admits to himself that he’s had lesser men under his thrall; some beautiful, some exotic, some considered wilder, none like Eggsy Unwin.

Harry muses it’s because there is a side of his lover that has yet to be tapped, something primal beyond his Kingsman existence. He loved watching the desperation in the younger man when he was nearing completion; the glow of his flesh, the dark strands of hair that press against his skin, and the heaving of his chest.

Now he watches Eggsy sleep, finally sated and exhausted in his arms. Harry traces his finger over the curve of the younger man’s jaw and smiles to himself.

In between their indulgence in Harry’s bed, they ate the pizza, gone cold by then. It tasted fine, though he admits he was paying more attention to Eggsy’s naked body than the food in his mouth.

He had taken the younger man back to bed and gone about debauching him in the best ways Harry could. After a shower, Eggsy curled himself against the older man’s body and fell asleep.

The sensation of hot air being blown ghosts over Harry’s chest hair and skin. He tilts his head, studying his lover and grinning as he bestows a gentle kiss upon his brow.

Eggsy grumbles something while he adjusts his cheek and settles again. His lips are parted, smooshed from being pressed into Harry’s body.

It’s a pretty picture, the Kingsman observes, though it tugs at his chest. “I have no right to lay claim upon you,” he whispers to the unconscious man. “After what I’ve put you through… you still offer me the world.”

The younger man moves again, tightening his hold on Harry in his sleep and whispers, “Love you.”

“As do I,” Harry tells him as he strokes Eggsy’s hair. “As do I.”

 

* * *

 

It is morning when Eggsy wakes to himself alone in Harry’s bed with neatly folded pajama pants by the footboard. 

He rubs the sleep from his eyes and yawns loudly, then shakes his head to clear the cobwebs. There is a distant beep those rhythmic sound carries through the house like a timer.

Eggsy grins to himself as he stretches his body, relishing the pleasant ache in his limbs that settles in muscles and bone. He reckons that Harry is preparing breakfast and that he should join him. Reaching for the pajama pants, Eggsy pulls them on and has to roll them twice as the older man is a bit broader than he.

The house is oddly quiet as he makes his way down to the kitchen, using the beeping to find his way. Eggsy feels a bit like Hansel and Gretel, though it’s just a house and not the dark forest.

“You might want to shut that off,” Eggsy calls as he steps off the staircase and into the foyer, where the sound is louder. “That’s usually what those timers mean, Harry.”

He is met by the constant sound, but not his lover’s baritone. Eggsy raises a brow and heads into the kitchen, surprised to find it empty.

The room lacks the warm glow from the night before, replaced by the cloudy morning that gives everything in its path a chilly feel.

Eggsy surveys the kitchen until his eyes fall on the source of the beep sound. He walks over to the kitchen table and peers down at the object.

It’s not a bomb, which is a relief. He would hate to explain how the house blew up to Harry.

Eggsy picks it up with his fingers as a sick feeling settles in his stomach, causing it to churn as his eyes move from his hand to the stitches on his arm.

His Kingsman tracker is all gleaming metal and computer wares that light up upon its activation. In the distance, there is a caravan of automobiles descending upon the house.

The air rushes out from his lungs as Eggsy collapses into one of the kitchen chairs with an unceremonious thud. He’s still clutching the tracker between his thumb and forefinger, unable to do anything else but realize one horrible truth.

Harry’s gone, vanished like a ghost as if the man never existed.

 


End file.
